My life is a rotten mess of nothing.
Despite the callous ways others have treated the place I grew up in, I’m careful when I set aside my box of molded dreams. Maybe somewhere else in this picked-over trailer, there’s something I can rebuild with. But my confusion and pain and helplessness overwhelm my ability to form a plan.
I shuffle back the way I came, eyes on my bare feet as I step on the worn carpet. The sight of the decay around me is too much to take in a second time.
Outside, a pickup truck drives over the forest of weeds that choke the gravel drive. I never would’ve let them get out of hand like that.
Years.
Once again, I’m naked, having lost the blanket gifted to me in my frantic retreat. And there are no clothes left in my home. I shield myself with my hands, a hot blush engulfing every inch of my flesh when I realize the red-haired witch is climbing out of the truck.
“Hey, Bo,” she says, her voice casual, as if this were a run-of-the-mill night. “Want some sweatpants? I have a pair I meant to give you.”
“Yes, please.”
I keep my eyes down as she approaches. In her hands, she cradles the pants as well as a flannel shirt.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I get that the wholema’amthing is supposed to be part of your Southern charm,” she says conversationally, her back turned while I pull on the clothes. “But it always just makes me feel old. You can call me Mor, okay?”
“Yes, ma—Mor,” I stutter, still stuck in my manners.
“Are you dressed?”
“I am.”
She turns around, and I brace for pity on her beautiful face. But all I spy is curiosity.
“Is this where you lived?”
“This isn’t how it looked,” I hurry to tell her, wanting her to know I wouldn’t live in a run-down mess.
“Of course not. You’ve been away for a while.” She waves behind her. “Can I introduce you to someone? He’s here to help.”
I square my shoulders and nod. Then I flinch when I realize another car is pulling up behind the truck.
A cop car.
Sweat gathers beneath my pits and down my back, and I shove my hands into the pockets of the sweatpants, as if that’ll hide how they ball into nervous fists.
Mor steps in close to me, her face concerned now. “We’re all here to help, Bo.” She holds out her hands, palms up, and I see a bandage wrapped around her left one that’s stained red. “You’re not in trouble.”
Yes, I am.
Even when I didn’t mean to cause trouble, I was still in it. That’s what being a monster in Folk Haven means.
Only this time, I also did something wrong. Doesn’t matter if I was trying to save someone.
“Your hand,” I say to distract myself from law enforcement approaching and to divert the witch’s attention from my shamed expression.
She glances at the wrapping and shrugs. “Some spells like blood.”
I frown. “You bled … for me?”
Mor steps in close, capturing my eyes and holding them so I can’t duck away from her stare. “I did. And I’m here to help until you don’t need me anymore, okay?”
She can’t mean that. I don’t even know how to take such a generous offer.
